


War Paint

by Tales_Unique



Series: Tales of War [1]
Category: Darksiders (Video Games)
Genre: Darksiders - Freeform, Darksiders Imagine, Darksiders Imagines, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 12:14:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16853782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tales_Unique/pseuds/Tales_Unique
Summary: This chapter is rated M for mature and contains written sexual content, written nudity, and just general NSFW.You have been warned!





	1. Chapter 1

The sounds of chaos are what bring the youngest of the Horsemen closer to the scene, curious to see what hellish creature he will be exterminating next upon his journey. As he nears the commotion War can feel the tremor of battle rumble through the ground and hears a cacophony of sound in his ears; metal chinking off metal, the heavy panting of breath and the roars of wrath and frustration.

Sand and ash is churned up from the action and swirls about him, though it fazes him not as he merely stands his ground with Chaoseater in hand. When the air clears he is met with a sight that gives him pause, though not because of the hell beast, nay, it is the Mortal that it had chosen to target.

It surprises him that she has survived long enough out in the wastelands to have even been found by him, however what shocks him the most is that she is  **fighting back**  and with a ferocity that he had seldom seen before. Although she was in no way winning, War feels a strange sense of kinship from watching her drag herself up from the charred earth, chest heaving, sweat and blood congealing on her skin, determined to carry on despite her mortality. He notices how her eyes are aflame with fierce resolution, aggression fuelling her actions; she wants to  **survive** , that much is clear to him.

A strong swipe on the beasts part sends her hurtling backwards, rolling and twisting with a pained cry at his feet. She’s injured, most certainly battered and bruised, and as she tries to haul herself up from the ground she coughs up blood through gritted teeth. War can hear the growl spilling forth from her cut lips as she claws at the ground, reaching feebly for the broken shards of an old sword that lay scattered before her, but the demon is already advancing and without a second thought War finally intervenes. With a mighty swing of his blade he slices the offending creature down the middle, his hulking form shielding her from the spray of blood and gore for the most part. The Mortal watches from her place on the ground with wide eyes and in shock, though her expression becomes a grimace when the pain of her injuries overwhelms her after the moment passes.

Expelling a controlled breath, War turns his attention to her as he sheaths his weapon, noticing how the fury once again floods into her expression despite her circumstances, attempting to get to her feet to defend herself. He merely raises an eyebrow, his illuminated gaze watching as she struggles to grab whatever she can to defend herself; a small scrap of broken metal, part of the shattered sword, and aims it in his direction. It’s now that he notices the intricate patterns upon her face, which is still marred with blood and sweat and dirt. The paint is a vivid, deep blue that contrasts starkly against her complexion, swirling and snaking across the one side of her face, dripping lower down her neck until it disappears beneath a scruff of rough, coarse fur that’s roughly stitched to the leather of the tunic she has on. His eyes linger for a moment at her neck where the paint is still the most precise, also noting how her throat throbs with a heightened pulse, and then down to where the curve of her chest rises and falls in quick succession with each anxious breath, then lower still as his gaze follows a drop of red-brown blood to the beginning of her cleavage—

The sharp sting of the shard of metal scraping against his cheek as it’s thrown at him brings the Horseman to his senses and his eyes narrow as they snap back to her face, only to be met with the same expression mirrored on her face. The Mortal dares to glare at him, spitting blood from her mouth and baring stained red teeth at him in a snarl. He can hear her growl  _how dare he_  as she no doubt saw his deliberate gaze, since he feels no shame from his actions, slide down her neck and torso, tracing the lines of the paint. Despite it being smudged in places and tainted by blood and dirt in others the tribal runes and patterns still remain, though a hand comes up to wipe it from her face, pushing braided wild locks of hair back, held slick in place by sweat from the fight before. She looks feral, and her attitude to survival reflects this, and War is acutely aware that she has fought tooth and nail to eke out a living in such a hellish world.

Without a word War leans forward, taking a step as he does so, to catch the front of her clothes as she attempts to scramble away from him. It’s easy for him to drag the struggling woman to her feet, unaffected by her pounding fists and scraping fingernails, drawing her in closely so he could better take in the paint on her skin and the wild look in her eyes. His gaze narrows for a moment before he speaks, tightening his grip as a warning to cease her violence.

“What…is this?” His words are slow, deliberate, as his eyes search her face before moving to her chin and neck. For a moment her brow furrows, confused, and her voice catches in her throat as she feebly attempts to pry his grip loose to no avail. It takes her a moment to coordinate her thoughts, but she soon replies, harshly.

“It’s paint,  ** _war_**   paint,” she hisses, struggling still to free herself. War’s response if a low hum, thoughtful in a way, as he sets her back down almost roughly. The moment his hand frees her she stumbles back, gripping her chest as she glares at him warily. This causes the Horseman to tilt his head; she reminds him of a scared animal, and in a way she is. Yet he’s hesitant to leave her alone lest she become food for another roaming abomination. The thought of her life, such fire and tenacity, being snuffed out so easily displeases him, and he feels a nagging pull from within to spare her that fate. Is it because she is different from the snivelling, feeble creatures he’s seen of her kind in the past? Or perhaps it’s the curiosity she’s invoked from him with her wild ways and vibrant image? In truth he’s not sure, but he’s willing to see what may come from having her at his side.

The Mortal notices this hesitation from him and her own expression blooms into one of careful intrigue and War feels a small smirk come to his lips. Perhaps he can entice her to follow him. It’s easy to summon his horse, Ruin, and when the nag approaches in a blaze of fire he watches the Mortal’s expression from the corner of his eye. She’s shocked and even a little afraid, but he can see the affinity she has for the beast in the way her body tenses as though stopping itself from stepping forward. He chuckles lowly, an almost thundering sound, and with a hand he beckons her closer.

There’s a primal delight in her eyes as she cautiously comes to him, her steps slow, and he sees just how small she truly is; she comes to about his mid arm at a maximum. Her head tilts upwards to briefly look at him and she lifts a cautious, blood-stained hand; she wants to touch his steed, curiosity overtaking her rational, and War, for once, is willing to allow it. A small smile tugs at her lips and she reaches out, smoothing her palm over Ruin’s neck, enthralled.

War watches her closely, resting his own hand upon the horses back; it would be interesting to have her with him, indeed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is rated M for mature and contains written sexual content, written nudity, and just general NSFW.
> 
> You have been warned!

In such a different, more violent and ruthless world it’s difficult to find a moment of serenity, and yet here War sits amidst the rubble of a dilapidated building with barely a scream or roar to distract him from this respite. A fire burns off to his side, the snap and crackle of the branches he’s scavenged reach his ears, and his eyes glance away to look out between the cracks in the mortar at the blackness of the sky outside. However none of these sights compare to that which stands before him, partially hidden by the remnants of a partitioning wall.

The Mortal stands partially hidden because she is currently tending an injury that sits just under her rib-cage, and out of courtesy for herself she hides her nude torso from his gaze. It’s only a small wound but War urges her to take care of it lest it become infected and cause further damage. While she absent-mindedly cleans the area of dried blood with a scarp of cloth she’s unaware that, with a slight incline of his head, War can see the outline of her profile on the side.

Burning white eyes catch sight of the smooth curve of her side, and in the flickering orange light of the flames he spots white scars littering her skin. His gaze follows the lines of her body downwards towards the ample set of hips she sports, just peeking out from the lower half of her clothing. A slight pang of disappointment crosses though him; he was curious to see what lay just below. Yet he’s content in seeing the subtle ripple of muscle beneath the flesh of her stomach and side as she twists and turns to be sure she’s cleaned the wound thoroughly.

Even without the trails and swirls of vivid blue War finds himself transfixed with even such a small portion of her body, his heart thundering in his chest, adrenaline rushing through his veins. As her arms lift in continuation of her work, so simple and yet so oddly arousing, War’s eyes shift upwards towards her chest, where he can see the side of her breast. It’s firm, or so he anticipates from the way it moves almost rhythmically with her movements, and rounded; enough in size to compliment her body-shape, even though they are small in ratio to her hips. Details, he fins, only serve to inflame his arousal further.

The Horseman clenches his hands into fists as they rest at his knees, barely able to blink for fear that she will shift and completely hide her body from him. Luckily she remains situated at such a tantalizing angle, and he’s able to resume his ministrations in relative peace and silence. She turns then, a fraction more, and he’s able to see the dip of her stomach and upwards to the top of her chest. Her collar bones, while pronounced, still hold flesh, and he can’t deny that she’s surprising fit and healthy despite the barren conditions she’s been subjected to.  Shadows dance across her skin from the firelight and in that moment War finds her to be the most exquisite creature he’s seen and though he feels as though he should contain his lecherous behaviour he finds himself unwilling to tear his gaze away; he wants to drink in every detail of her body before she’s hidden from view once more.

In the simplicity of the moment he’s not in the least aware that she actually  _knows_ that his gaze lingers upon her semi-naked body, or that she’s willingly allowing him to look at her. In truth the Mortal feels her own pull of desire, pooling deep within the toned stomach his eyes have skimmed over and threatening to burst forth. She’s deliberate in her actions, purposely slow and meticulous, as though she were a peacock standing proudly before its mate, tail fanning out steadily so that every fleck of colour is admired. With a satisfied hum she’s content that her wound has been tended to, cleansed of the blood and dirt, so that the area can heal of its own accord, and she’s pleased that it’s no more than the size of her pinkie finger in length and barely wide enough to cause worry anymore.

It’s then that she lifts her head and, locking eyes with the silently watching Horseman, finally speaks. She tells him, an almost smug tone to her voice, that  _I know you were watching_  and all War can do is continue to stare, his brows lifting slightly as his gaze widens. He’s shocked for a moment that she was aware of his lewdness but then realizes that she wouldn’t be alive if she wasn’t able to sense the presence of others and whether they may be stalking her from afar. Her soft laughter at his expression only serves to fuel his growing need for her, so casual and yet so direct in her advance. It’s refreshing for him to see her, a **human** , so dominant and in control, and he’s barely able to move when she steps out from behind the wall and saunters closer to him.

A small breeze ruffles the burning sticks and causes the flames to grow for a moment, and in this new blaze of light she looks like a predator edging closer, and War can’t deny how much it excites him. The rush that courses through him is astounding and he likens it to when he’s in the heat of battle, slaying his enemies without care. His eyes remain fixated on her person, locked with her own smoldering gaze, as she comes to halt before him, standing between his legs where he sits with them open on a pile of rubble acting as a makeshift seat. It’s difficult to restrain himself in this moment for he wants nothing more than to tear the rest of the offending material from her body and ravage her as his blood demands, but he remains still, barely contained, even as he’s met with the vision of perfection that is her battle-scarred torso.

Up close he sees details that only serve to drive him further into carnage; the fullness of her breasts, the faint tint of blue where the body paint she wears has sat for too long on her skin, which makes her body look even more beautiful. His control pleases her and she draws closer, a hand coming to run a finger along his jaw. A low rumble of pleasure escapes the Horseman and he lifts his gaze to see her own are half-lidded, pupils blown with what he knows to be  **lust**.  
There are no words that need to be spoken, they both know what will happen between them that night.

With slight trepidation War’s hands, now free of his gauntlets, come to rest at her hips, his fingertips smoothing over her skin, before gliding upwards to her stomach and sides. But this isn’t nearly enough. The tribal pounding of his blood is deafening in his ears, his body itches, it  **craves**  her to be closer than she already is. While he’s more disciplined than his younger years, War feels the animalistic urges within him flaring, and all from the look upon her face. She gazes up at him, mouth ajar with softly panting breaths, her hands coming to rest on his arms, clutching desperately at them. His senses are acute enough that he spots the minute tremor running through her, and this further excites him; she  **wants**  this, just as he does.

The Horseman brings his hands higher until he’s cupping her breasts and a smirk comes to his lips when he hears a breathless moan escape her. He watches her expression intently as his hands hold the firm mounds, fingers rolling her nipples between them until they create stiff peaks. Enamoured with the way they shift with each stroke and pinch, and how her skin prickles with goosebumps under his hot touch, War barely notices her move until his face is cupped in her hands. He opens his mouth to speak but she shakes her head, eyes alight with pure rapture, an alluring smile blooming on her tantalizing lips. Time seems to slow as she draws back from him, gripping the fabric of his cowl to urge him to follow her. He cares not about the fire that blazes or the dankness of the ruin, all he focuses on is the fiery woman before him and the intense desire he feels for her, as she leads him into the shadier part of their current dwelling.

The Mortal’s back presses against the cool brickwork of the wall and War can almost taste her arousal in the air as he corners her there. Her skin is aflame as his fingers slide up and down her side, teasing her, before he finally tugs at the offending hem that halts his advances. No order needs to be uttered for she knows what he wants and wastes no time in shimmying out of the remainder of her clothes, leaving herself exposed before him. In the low, flickering light she stands completely naked and War feels like a man starved. She’s as beautiful below as she is above, with strong legs and a firm, plump rear. The Horseman wastes no time and quickly indulges himself with such assets, but not before he makes himself more accessible to her. Being so enthralled with her body leaves him uncomfortable, his own arousal trapped within the confines of his clothing and armor, but it’s easily remedied so that they both stand as equals; **_exposed_**.

Now it’s her turn to admire the exquisite specimen before her. Her hands lift to run over the expanse of his chiselled chest, fingertips delicately brushing over scars and muscles alike, her lower lip caught between her teeth. She enjoys the sight before her, and War feels his chest swell with pride at such a wanton, hungry gaze that meets his own.

Yet, even now they’ve gone this far, there’s a slight hesitancy to her actions. She catches her hand just before it dips too low and her brows furrow, pulls her hand back to her chest. He can see how vulnerable she currently is, and feels honoured that she would open herself up to him; so trusting of the Rider of the Red Horse.

“It’s…been some time,” she murmurs softly, barely above a whisper, and War is quick to act so that she doesn’t remain so downtrodden by the thought.

“You are…not alone in that,” his tongue feels heavy in his mouth as he speaks, words being that last thing on his mind in that moment, but he owes her this much. He feels compelled to repay her for such a vision of loveliness. She seems to appreciate this sentiment as she smiles up at him, irresistible, murmuring that she’s more than happy to work with him on that. The words are playful and they bring a smirk to his lips once more.

By now, what with her alluring gaze and touching words, he’s throbbing and hard and it borderlines on painful. War gives a small huffing groan as he realizes this and her gaze immediately shifts downwards, widening a fraction. Her gaze flicks back up, but she’s suddenly met with a searing kiss; all the lust fuelled tension snaps, and both are spiralling out of control. There’s a frenzy of activity when their lips meet, a flurry of limbs and the sounds of heated desire. He feels her fingers come to tangle in his hair, one hand set there while the other shifts to wrap an arm about his neck to keep him close. He uses this to his advantage and quickly hooks both hands under her ample rear and lifts, securing her against the wall, humming low and pleasured as he feels her legs wrap about his waist, ankles locking at the small of his back.

The kiss breaks then and through his own burning desire he can feel the heat of her core, already wet and willing to take him, so close to his throbbing length it almost makes him throw caution to the wind. But he waits a moment longer, seeking her gaze once more, to be assured that this is the path she chooses. Pressed so closely he can stare deeply into her eyes and he sees just how close to euphoria she really is. Panting breaths, skin flushed, eyes hooded and dark with lust. She wants it,  **needs**  it, and he’s more than willing to deliver.

Cautious, War takes a hand and lines himself up so that, with a singular thrust, he can impale her on his shaft. There’s resistance as he begins and he hears her gasp, the grip of her hands tightening, and he stops for fear that he’s hurt her, but she immediately whimpers for him to keep going, to give her more, and he’s certain that there’s no sweeter sound that he could ever hear than this. Obligingly he pushes all the way until he feels her hips against his, and in that moment they are one. She’s trembling against him, clinging tightly, and he’s sure that he can feel her heart fluttering against her rib cage like a trapped bird. He gives her a moment or two to collect herself, using the time to control himself also since he wants nothing that to take her but he knows that this would only cause her pain at this point. Besides, simply being buried within her, enveloped by her wet warmth, was enough to sate him.

If only for a moment, at least.

Yet it’s her who decides it’s time to continue as she brings a shaking hand to his cheek, gaining his attention, and offers him a breathless smile. She doesn’t speak, she merely whimpers softly and gives a roll of her hips that causes a growl to fall from his mouth. The sensation causes electricity to flow through him and War feels the fires within him burn brightly. There is no waiting now, he can’t take any more teasing. Neither can she from the way she’s already attempting to create a rhythm, arching her hips so that she can get as much friction as possible from the short, sharp strokes she musters. He tightens his grip on her hips for a moment until he hears her whine in protest for ceasing her actions, and it brings a small smirk to his lips again. He indulges in teasing her for a moment but soon tires; he can’t wait any longer, he needs her **now** , and so he takes her.

It comes to the Nephilim as easily as battle, this carnal pleasure of his. With a swift jerk of his hips he pulls out, almost to the head, and just before she can reprimand him he pushes sharply back in. The choked moan she gives is like poison, it slithers into his veins and mingles with the adrenaline and the lust and offers something more potent than each of them alone.

With low rumble in his throat he continues this pace, in and out, in and out, listening to the sounds of her hoarse panting and sweet moans as they echo in his ear. She’s delectably vulnerable,  **pure**  even, in this moment, taking his cock like a champion, and it prompts him to drive into her harder. His hands clutch at her hips tighter, marks threatening to appear, until his pace is too much to support her and he’s forced to press her more against the brickwork to support them better, a hand against her wall. She helps as best she can too; tightens her legs, squeezing, so that she won’t slip or fall. He feels her fingers claw at his shoulders, his back, and how her body tightens around him as he slides within her. He pushes in, deep, bottoms out, before he repeats the motion over and over until they’re both moaning, hot messes. Her hair is slick against her neck and strands are glued to her face, her body glows with perspiration in the dimming firelight; she looks like a goddess, a primal look of ecstasy on her face. She tips her head back as her orgasm builds, says his name like a prayer, and War grunts and growls and shudders with the onset of his own.

He hears her whisper  _I’m so close_ , frantic and hot, in his ear as she presses her cheek to his. She pulls him as close as she can to her body, rocking her hips against his thrusts, meeting them head on with vigour now. Spots explode in her vision and the world starts to blur; she doesn’t want it to end, but it’s racing upon her. The coil in her stomach is set to burst and she can tell he is too from the way his chest heaves against her own, the growls that resonate in her very body. She feels his speed and his power increase and though her legs threaten to cramp up, her toes curling so tightly she wonders distantly if they’re white, she still begs  _oh please, please keep going_  because she’s so close her head is spinning, it’s dizzying and—

The tension suddenly snaps, harsh and instant. Her head falls back with a harsh cry of ecstasy and she feels her body and her mind unfurl with the sudden impact of her orgasm, body set aflame. War takes a moment or two longer to find his own release, ruts her harder until he gives one final strong thrust at the point of climax with a deep groan against her neck. She holds him close as they both bask in the afterglow, her shaking hands coming to clutch at his cheeks, forcing his eyes to look at her again. He’d been so driven in the moment that he’s stunned to see how glorious she is when so dishevelled; hair a mess, skin aglow, sweat beading on her brow. Hot breaths fan over his face and he’s willingly powerless to stop her when she pulls him in for a kiss, this time soft and hesitant. It lures him in despite the fire still flowing through his veins and he deepens it for a moment until she pulls back, breathless and sated, looking at him with such fondness he feels slightly ashamed. His actions have never warranted such kindness before, yet with her it seems to be all he receives.

After some time they finally separate, mostly because he feels her hold on him begin to lull, her energy spent. When he gently lowers her to her feet she’s shaky and he has to support her against his frame until the blood returns to her limbs and she can stand on her own. Even then there’s a slight delay in him letting her go, or her loosening her grip on him, and it’s then that they both, silently, realize that this is different from just sex. Even as they each tend to themselves alone, unsure and uncertain of aftercare with one another, they know it means  **more**.

It’s the reason why, as she cleans herself, she feels War’s hands on her back, fingers smoothing up to her tired shoulders. She hums softly in appreciation, a small frown coming to her lips when they recede from her body altogether after a few moments.

It’s also the reason, then, that he lets her help him straighten his hood once they’re both dressed again, enjoying the sensation of her fingers as they brush through his hair as she does it, barely containing his discontent when she pulls her hands away and turns so she can return to the fire.

He’s a beast, a monster, but perhaps he could be  **hers** , if only for the moments that he has her.


End file.
